


resting on a wave

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cookies, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall should not eat random cookies that a fan gives them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	resting on a wave

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Waves - Branko ft. Roses Gabor.

He’s still sweaty, his t-shirt sticking to the small of his back as he follows Louis through the winding corridors to the dressing room. Liam’s already there, half stripped and his hair all a mess. 

“First shower!” Louis yells, slapping his hand off the top of the doorframe as he walks through to the adjoining bathroom. Harry doesn’t mind, he can find something to amuse himself for ten minutes. 

He tugs off his own t-shirt and throws it into the growing pile of laundry in the middle of the room. Liam’s already struggling to get his arms into a fresh t-shirt. 

“You heading straight out?” Harry asks him, voice slightly rough. He might need to gargle some lemon and honey later. 

Liam shrugs awkwardly, one arm still inside the shirt. “Gonna bring Soph out somewhere nice. I think she’s going stir crazy just travelling about.”

“Keep the romance alive,” Louis says knowingly as he sticks his head back into the dressing room. Harry can hear the shower running. “We’ve all been there. The sex gone to shit yet?”

“Will you fuck off and shower please?” Harry asks, slumping down into the cracking sofa. The leather sticks to his back. Louis flips him off but Liam’s going pink, keeping his eyes down on his phone. “I’d like to shower sometime this century.”

Louis sends him a sly grin and Harry knows he shouldn’t have bothered. It’s going to take him extra long now.

“Don’t listen to him, Li,” Harry advises him. “You should totally take her out to this really nice place that my friend’s been to. I think that it’s owned by this really nice couple who had this article written about them in—“

Liam gives him an unimpressed look. “We’ve got it sorted. Thanks.”

Harry shrugs and reaches for a bottle of water off the fold down table. “Just trying to help. In case. You know –“ He waves his hand in the direction of the door Louis disappeared into. Louis has started to sing so Harry knows he’s finally actually made it in there and isn’t just scrolling through his phone wasting all the water to piss Harry off. Anyway, it’ll be Niall that bears the brunt of the water running out.

Liam scowls. “My sex life is fine, thank you very much. In fact, it gets better when it’s with someone you love.” 

Harry nods, narrowing his eyes and pretending to know what he’s talking about. He’s not sure he’s ever had sex with someone he’s been _in love_ with. Not the same way Liam goes all soft with it, anyway. 

Liam snorts, tugging on a shoe. Harry must be frowning. “See you tomorrow,” Liam sing-songs, grabbing a bag to go over his shoulder and heading for the door.

Harry waves half-heartedly. He’s winding down, his body giving into that way the adrenaline drains right out of his muscles until he can feel where he’s hurting, where he’s bounced too long on the balls of his feet, how his tummy starts to rumble because he can never eat before going on stage. 

“Behave,” Harry says absentmindedly, inspecting the little folded up tinfoil package on the table. He had nearly forgotten about the box of cookies he had gotten tonight. 

The door swings open to some noise from outside, shouting from the crew as they stage starts to be pulled down, distant screams from outside in the arena as people empty out, Lottie yelling at somebody.

Niall stumbles in, half doubled over in laughter. Oh, she’s yelling at him then. Niall’s still flushed from the show, his t-shirt twisted around his belly somehow and his hair all ruffled. He’s got his shirt all rucked up, his fingers curled against his tummy. It makes him look even paler than usual and Harry stares at it for a moment too long before he turns back to his food.

“Payno,” he greets Liam and half blocks him from leaving at the same time. “Are you heading back now? Hold on and I’ll ride with you.”

“I’m taking Soph out,” Liam tells him and then glances over at Harry, face going tight as if he regrets bringing it up again. Harry smiles at him but doesn’t mention anything – he’s not Louis. Louis is still sadly in the shower. Harry sits up, leather sticking to his back.

Liam sighs. “How long are you going to be?”

Niall puckers up his lips. “A _date_ , Mr Payne?” Niall whistles before he devolves into another jag of laughter. Liam ignores him. “I’ll be two minutes, promise,” Niall says with a smile. “Won’t keep you from your _date_.”

Liam cocks his head to the side but nods with a sigh, stepping back to lean against the end of the other sofa. Niall pats him messily on the head and then goes hunting for his stuff. Harry never knows how he can lose all his stuff throughout the venue when they’ve only spent a few hours there, two of which was on stage.

“Hey,” Niall says to Harry, a bit breathless from his laughing fit as he starts collecting trainers and stray t-shirts. He’s got a toothbrush tucked into the decorative pocket of his t-shirt and is sorting through the laundry pile haphazardly. 

Harry opens his mouth to say something back but Niall pauses, eyes flicking down to the cookies in Harry’s lap. “Are you really going to eat them?”

Harry frowns and glances down at the cookies. Sure they’re not all warm and soft but they look perfectly fine to him. They’ve even got little hundreds and thousand sprinkles on them. Why shouldn’t he eat them? “They’re oat raisin,” Harry says as if that explains everything. “Do you want one?”

Niall pulls a face, his arms full of random bits of clothing. Harry has the urge to pack them all into a backpack for him. He glances down at the tinfoil again, picks up a cookie that has the raisins arranged into a heart and tears it in half, straight down the middle of the heart. He appreciates the effort the fan went too, they’re so dedicated. “Friendship cookie?” He offers it up to Niall. 

Niall snorts but opens his mouth, bending over so Harry can shove it in. Over his shoulder, Liam rolls his eyes. 

“See you later,” Niall says, chewing through his half. There’s a pink sprinkle stuck to his top lip. He swallows with a shrug and as quick as he’s there, he’s gone. 

“Later,” Harry agrees belatedly but there’s little point – the room is empty now. He can hear Niall burst into laughter somewhere down the corridor, just audible over Louis crooning in the shower. 

Niall’s dropped a sock when he’d bent over and it’s soft when Harry picks it up, his thumb rubbing over the raised embroidered polka dots over them. There’s a sad little part of him that wishes he had just got up and followed Niall and Liam out to the cars. At least he wouldn’t be here waiting on Louis to finish the world’s longest shower. 

Harry sags into the sofa and stuffs half a cookie into his mouth. He may as well finish them while he waits.

*

By the time Louis is done and Harry’s stood briefly underneath a lukewarm shower, the rest of them are ready to go back to the hotel. Lou has rounded up Lottie and Mark and the four of them pile into a tinted fourbyfour and finally head away from the stadium. 

“Got anything planned for this evening?” Lou asks, playing idly with the ends of her ponytail. 

Harry shakes his head. He’s starting to feel jittery, his stomach folding into knots. “Do you need me to babysit?” Harry asks. His throat has gone all clogged up again and he wonders if he’s coming down with something. He’ll have to go and beg the hotel kitchens for honey.

Lou shakes her head. “Nope, I’m just gonna cuddle down with Lux and watch a movie, if you’re interested?”

Harry hums noncommittally which makes Louis snort from the seat beside him. His entire face is illuminated by his phone. It makes him look a bit haunting, his fringe drying crooked across his face. Harry looks away, feeling a bit car sick.

He feels hot all over, his skin prickling uncomfortably. He’s as sweaty as he started out after the show, like he hadn’t spent twenty minutes in the shower before they left the arena. Harry stares out the window, hardly seeing as they speed down the motorway in just a blur of lights. The glass is cool when Harry leans his head against it. 

“Are you okay?” Mark asks when they all pile out at the hotel. Harry nods, squinting slightly at the glare of the fluorescent lights of the underground car park. He probably needs to lie down.

“Just tired,” Harry mumbles. He feels the opposite of tired, something buzzing through him that’s making his entire body hum. Mark nods, sets his hand on Harry’s shoulder and it nearly makes Harry’s legs buckle. His tongue feels too big for his mouth so Harry pushes it back into his mouth with his thumb and stays very quiet. He bites at the edge of his nail bed. Lou’s giving him an odd look as they wait for the lift so Harry tucks his fingers into a fist and pulls it away from his mouth. It feels empty, his mouth floods with saliva. 

“Just head to bed, yeah?” Mark advises him as they head towards their rooms. “We can skip the gym in the morning if you’re still feeling rough.” Harry’s already nodding, his fingers clumsy as he shoves his key card into the slot. He presses up against the door, the wood cool against his overheated skin until it clicks and turns green. 

Once he’s in his room and on his own, it’s easy to strip down. He drags off his t-shirt, relishes the way the hem drags over his nipples. 

“Fuck,” he breathes to himself, shoving down his jeans and kicking out of his boxers. He feels like something has lit him up from the inside. He flops down onto the bed face first, groaning into the cool, soft pillow. He shivers, grinds down into the covers because he’s somehow worked himself up to rock hard without really trying. He feels too hot. It’s not a nice hard and excited hard, it feels like it’s been forced out of him. 

It works for a few minutes, a slow grind down into the mattress trying to work up some friction. But the more turned on he gets, the more hotter he starts to run, the less it works. 

He rolls onto his back, groaning with frustration as he reaches down and gets a hand around his dick. It’s hot in his hand, over sensitive and Harry’s entire body jerks as he curls his fingers around his dick. He thumbs over the head, drags the pad of his finger over where he’s already gone slick. 

It’s no good. He just feels it get worse, his muscles tightening up until he’s clenched tight all over. He pushes his free hand down his belly, feels where he’s gone clammy warm. He scratches through the hair at the base of his dick, pushes his palm against the inside of his thigh, his thumb dipping into the crease between his groin and his leg. His breath hitches, finally squeezing one of his balls as he pushes himself to the edge. 

Harry lets out a breath, loud where he’s been holding it inside his tight chest. He’s starting to panic. This has never happened before. He should be coming already, he can feel it bubble and boil right behind his pelvis. He just wants to come.

He drags himself off the bed, his vision going a bit blurry round the edges and manages to get find his phone in the pocket of his jeans. The carpet is rough against his knees, a completely different texture that’s sending his mind reeling. 

His thumb shakes as he tries to drag the arrow to the side to unlock it. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do – google it somehow. He gasps, pushing himself down onto his elbow on the floor. He spreads his legs. He can’t work out if he wants to push his dick into something soft and wet or to drop down on something long and hard. 

He pushes face into his jeans, inhales roughly. It just smells of himself, of sweat and musk and he groans into it, dragging his tongue over the scratchy denim. “Fuck,” he groans. He can hardly think straight. Nothing taking his mind off the urge to just come. 

He pushes up so he’s kneeling properly, straddling air between his thighs. He could sink down onto something like this, he doesn’t even care what. It feels empty between his legs.

He grapples for his phone again but his fingers trace over the soft material of a sock. He groans and tugs it out of his jeans pocket. It feels nice when he drags it over his straining thigh, dangles it until it hardly feels like he’s doing it at all as he brushes it up over his hip and across the hot head of his cock as it bobs in front of him. It tickles, the softness in sharp contrast to everything else that’s sending his body into a frenzy.

It’s so soft. Harry groans, pushes it over the head of his dick in case it would maybe make him feel better. Niall’s soft cotton socks. 

Harry lets out a breath. _Niall_.

He hears a “Jesus Christ! _Harry!_ ” from down the hallway when he staggers out of his room but it doesn’t really matter, their words hardly sounding out through the fog in Harry’s brain as he bangs on Niall’s door. 

“Go away,” Niall shouts but his voice is strained. Just the sound of his voice sends a jolt of arousal through him. Harry groans, presses his front against the door. 

“Let me in,” Harry says against the wood. He has no idea how loud he’s being, just feels the words reverberate back against his mouth. “Niall. Let me in. Please.”

The door swings open a few moments later and Harry has to catch himself against the doorframe so he doesn’t fall over. Niall’s standing in front of him in a pair of loose shorts, his dick pushing at the front of them obscenely. 

He’s shirtless, the flush on his cheeks washing down his front into blotchy pockets of colour. Harry wants to press his lips to his collarbone, feel the sheen of sweat there against his tongue. It’s so good to see him, Harry feels relieved already. 

“Fuck,” Niall groans, his eyes wide and raking as they slide up and down Harry’s naked body. “Is that my fucking sock?”

“Niall,” Harry says, his lips hardly moving fast enough for Harry to speak properly. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Niall staggers back a few steps and Harry can shut the door, locking them in so it’s just the two of them.

“I was in the shower,” Niall says but then he starts to shake his head, his eyes closing. He reaches out, his hand hovering close to Harry’s bicep. “We _can’t._ ”

“We have to,” Harry says. He’s bordering on desperate. He wants to—he needs to feel Niall’s skin against his own. 

Niall levels his gaze on him and somewhere, deep down in the recesses of Harry’s brain he recognises that Niall isn’t quite as far gone as he is. But that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that matters right now is the feel of Niall’s skin against Harry’s front. 

“Fuck,” Niall breathes, staggering back when Harry lands against him. His skin is warm, just as warm if not hotter than Harry’s but Harry moulds himself to Niall’s lean body anyway, pushing up against him with a grunt. “Harry.”

“Niall,” Harry answers, pushing his head into the crook of Niall’s neck and drinking him in. He smells of skin and something clean. He tastes clean too when Harry licks out, his skin soft against Harry’s tongue. Harry can imagine Niall soaping himself up, making himself nice and wet.

Niall gasps, lets his shoulders relax as Harry starts to suck on his neck. It feels nice to have his mouth finally occupied. He keeps it pressed there, feeling out Niall’s pulse point with his tongue as Niall walks them back towards the bed and pulls him down across it. The sheets are already a mess underneath them as Harry stretches out beside Niall’s body. 

“I wanna fuck you,” Harry tells him, pulling away to pant in Niall’s face. Niall’s eyes widen and he flushes more, a soft pink that creeps down over his neck. Harry follows it with his thumbs, brushing out across Niall’s collarbone and chest, catching at his pink nipples and watching as they pucker up. “I want to feel you. I want you.”

Niall takes a deep breath, his chest rising with it. Harry pushes against it with his palm, feels out where his ribs expand with every breath. Harry feels like he’s baring his soul to Niall, he’s spent so long bottling up these thoughts about him and keeping them all to himself but now he can’t seem to be able to stop spilling all of his secrets. 

“I want to kiss you,” Harry tells him, catching Niall’s glittering gaze. “Taste you.”

Niall breathes again, this time more measured like he’s made a decision. Harry’s skin prickles. 

“Harry,” Niall says softly, reaching for his face and Harry leans down, lets Niall’s fingers bump against his jaw and guide him down. The first touch of their lips is soft, Harry tracing across Niall’s bottom lip with his tongue. It’s distracting enough that Harry forgets how it feels like his thighs are on fire, forgets the bubbling urge to fall face down into a vat of something thick and warm and wet. 

It doesn’t last – Niall reaches up, drags his hand around Harry’s ear to tangle in his hair. He shifts against him, lifts a leg until Harry can wriggle in between his thighs and grind down. 

“Shit,” Harry pants into Niall’s mouth pushing a hand against his hip. He dips a thumb into the waistband of Niall’s shorts, drags it back so it snaps against his skin. Niall groans, bites down on Harry’s bottom lip until Harry’s mouth floods with saliva. 

“Lube,” Niall says breathlessly, turning his head and glancing wildly over to the bathroom door. Harry groans, that fever rush of heat rearing its head again. 

He rolls away, staggers over to the doorway. “Where?” he asks but it comes out more like a demand. Niall’s half grunting to himself back on the bed and not much help. Niall’s bathroom is a mess – the sink is half full of crystal clear water, a damp face cloth lying across one of the taps and most of his toiletry bag is scattered across the counter. 

“Ugh,” Harry complains, tipping the rest out onto the marble and sorting through it. For someone who doesn’t have a facial routine, Niall sure has a lot of fucking miniature travel bottles. He wishes that he was in his room, he can nearly pinpoint where he keeps lube at all times. He has a back up bottle just in case. Niall should be more prepared. 

“Harry,” Niall moans from the bed and Harry has to grip the counter to save himself from falling over. He’s never heard his name moaned so beautifully before. So rough with want. 

“Coming,” he murmurs faintly, chucking a bottle of John Frieda into the sink. It bobs for a moment in and out of the water and Harry watches, mouth growing dry. 

He looks ridiculous when he catches his own reflection in the mirror. He’s flushed bright red, sweat beading along his hairline. He can feel it drying tacky by the extractor fan in the bathroom but he’s sweating enough that it hardly makes a difference. His hair is a mess from Niall’s hands, sticking up and curling around his ears. He wishes he had a hair tie, it would make everything much more easier but he’s struggling to find Niall’s lube, he doubts he’s going to be keeping a supply of bobbles and hair grips. 

“ _Harry!_ ” Niall sounds urgent and Harry takes a moment to breathe through the wave of _want_.

“Fuck,” Harry says desperately, he shoves his hand into Niall’s bag and finally finds it, tucked into a little secret zippy pocket at the back. Harry groans out a merciful _yes_ and scrambles to back into the room. 

Niall’s spread out across the bed, one foot up on the mattress and his head thrown back, throat exposed as he slowly fucks up into his hand. 

“Wait for me,” Harry whines, racing over to the bed. Niall blinks his eyes open but he already looks half gone. Harry groans, kneeling up next to him. His dick brushes against Niall’s knee when Harry curls his hand around his leg, the head catching awkwardly in Niall’s sock. It’s gone damp where Harry’s leaked right through it, making the fabric dark and heavy. He strips it off with a grunt. 

Niall makes a noise at the back of his throat, turns his head away from Harry. “Fucking weirdo,” he says, his voice scratchy. Harry barks out a laugh, feels it vibrate through his bones and leans down to kiss him again. 

Niall’s more responsive this time, latching onto him and licking into his mouth. He pushes his hand against Harry’s cheek, smearing precome into the barely-there stubble on Harry’s jaw. It makes Harry groan, the smell of it so much more intoxicating this close. He turns his face into Niall’s palm, licks at it slowly. Niall watches him deliberately.

“C’mere,” Niall sighs out, tongue coming out to lick across his lip. Harry follows his tongue and then he's reaching for him again.

Harry sucks on Niall’s tongue, pushes against the rough wet of it as he pulls away. Niall’s lips have swollen up into a luscious shade of red.

“You look so good,” Harry tells him, dragging his eyes down Niall’s sprawled body. Niall widens his knees, spreads them invitingly and Harry doesn’t need much more encouragement. “I’ve wanted –“ Harry cuts himself off, focusing on unsnicking the bottle. It’s about half full and Harry tries not to think who Niall’s been using it with. He's thought of this before. In snatches of dreams and fantasies before he falls asleep, when he's running a hand over himself in a shower, when he's fucking into the heat of someone else's mouth. He's thought about it and yet he's never thought of this.

He barely warms up the lube before he brushes his slick fingers over Niall’s hole. It makes Niall jump, his hand coming up to wind around Harry’s neck. Harry reaches across to suck a kiss onto his kissbitten mouth, licking against his teeth to keep his mind off it as he smears it into his skin and starts rubbing. 

“Harry,” Niall mewls, shifting closer to him. Harry falls back, holding his wrist steady as Niall curls into him. He lifts a leg, hooking it over Harry’s stomach and Harry’s never done it like this before, not where he can’t see his fingers disappearing into Niall’s hole. He doesn't think Niall could be pressed closer to him than he is right now. Harry gasps into Niall's cheek. “Please,” Niall begs, voice catching. He shifts his hips to fuck down on Harry’s finger. “More. Come on.”

It feels like he’s being swallowed up, Niall a heavy, hot and sweaty weight slung across most of his front. Niall mouths messily at his jaw, coming up for an odd kiss when Harry angles his fingers just right. It’s a bit of a mess considering he can’t see what he’s doing but it feels more intense, Niall’s eyes going glassy as Harry stares at them. Lube drips down onto Harry’s hip, smears there when Niall thrusts against him. Niall blinks when Harry does. 

He’s reliant on listening to the noises Niall’s making, the tiny huffs of breath against Harry’s throat, the little whines he makes when Harry twists his fingers in and out. It feels like ages since he’s done this last but Niall doesn’t seem to mind with his fumbling, his eyes going distant and then sharp with every few breaths. 

“Christ,” Niall says suddenly jerking away, sitting up and throwing his head back. It knocks a laugh out of Harry, holding onto Niall’s hip in case he slides right off him. “Right there,” Niall chokes, his eyes closed. He drops down on Harry’s aching wrist, tightens his knees against Harry’s ribs. It's a bit awkward for a moment but Harry watches as Niall gets off on it, shifting to where it feels good for him.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks, selfishly hoping he is. He can’t take it anymore, not with the way Niall's jaw is dropping open as he wordlessly mouths something. He wants to watch as Niall sinks down on him, wants to flip them over and fuck into him. He needs to get his dick wet. It’s starting to hurt. Like something below his waist is on fire. It feels like he’s been hard for days. 

Niall hums, one hand lifting up to skate over his own nipple. Harry’s mouth waters, he wants to suck on it, twist and bite it but he can’t do it all at once. It’s disappointing. He watches as Niall drops his hand, his palm skating over his dick and giving himself a quick squeeze before he snatches his hand away. He takes a few breathes and swipes his hand down his belly again. 

“Yeah,” he finally breathes, eyes still closed. Harry wants him to open them so he can see how blue they are. He twists his hand out of his arse instead, fingers catching around his rim. He wishes he could see that too but he prefers Niall’s blissed out expression a tiny bit more. 

Niall settles back, a breath punching out of him as he seats himself across Harry’s dick. Harry chokes, his fingers tightening into a fist around the bottle of lube. He rolls his hips up, feeling where Niall is wet and open. 

“Lift up,” Harry urges him, a sticky hand at Niall’s hip. “Niall, please. I need—“

Niall grunts, rising up onto his knees again as Harry fumbles to spread lube over his dick. He jacks himself awkwardly around Niall’s body, his vision going blurry it feels so good but Niall twists his nipple, jerking his mind out of it. 

“Fuck,” Harry hisses, settling his palm against his groin and holding his dick still. “Lift up.”

Niall arranges himself, glancing down, a palm flat against Harry’s stomach. He’s gone red again, a steady flush out over his shoulders. Harry pauses, his hand holding his dick straight. "Niall," Harry says quietly, breathless. Niall doesn't look like he can form words. 

They moan together as Niall sinks down and Harry can hardly keep his eyes open to watch as his dick disappears inch by inch into Niall’s arse. “Christ,” he breathes out once Niall’s seated, his hands curled into fists on Harry’s chest. He needs to fuck up into him, he’s so tight and warm. 

Niall goes like jelly on top of him, pushing his face into Harry’s throat and nipping at the skin there. Harry feels like he’s alight at every point where they meet, the sharp bites to his neck, the breadth of Niall’s palm against his side, the intense heat where Niall clenches around him. The roll of his hips. 

They roll their hips together, Niall gasping into his jaw. Niall’s dick is caught between them, smearing wet against Harry’s tummy. They’re a mess of lube and sweat but Harry feels around the curve of Niall’s arse to where Niall’s stretched around him, feels where he’s wettest. 

“Niall,” Harry breathes. It’s all he can say. It’s all he’s thinking about. His mind completely taken up by everything that is _Niall_. How he feels around him, the clench of his arse and the heat of his skin. It feels too big to really grapple with. 

Niall pulls back again, gasping at whatever angle Harry’s fucking into with. Harry presses against his hole, his finger testing the pressure there. His gaze is intense when he opens his eyes, his mouth dropping open. 

“Harry,” he says desperately. His mouth looks so red around his words. “I can’t—I’m—“ 

Harry reaches for his drippy dick with his free hand, presses his thumb to the slit to watch as more pre-come oozes out. Niall gasps, his breath all caught in his throat and his nails go sharp against the softness of Harry’s tummy before he starts to come. 

It lands in globby clumps across the swallows on Harry's chest. Niall gasps again, rolling his hips against it. He clamps down on Harry’s dick, his face twisting and it makes Harry swear, his hips fucking selfishly into the tight heat of it. 

“Shit,” Niall swears, his voice pitched higher than usual. He’s hunching over, his thighs spreading as he sags. “Sorry. Fuck, I--”

Harry leans up, catches him in a sloppy kiss before managing to roll them. Niall goes easily, his legs splaying as Harry spreads him out across the mattress, driving into him. It feels too tight now, too hot and Harry groans, that slapslap of his balls against Niall’s arse getting louder and louder now that Niall’s stopped his near constant hum of needy moaning. 

“C’mon,” Niall says, lazily and Harry gasps, gives into the feeling that’s been building up through his gut all evening. Niall’s eyes look so blue when Harry catches him, his mouth slack as he licks at his lips. He lifts his knee hooking it over Harry’s hip and higher, opening him up and Harry nudges right up in, pushing his hips flush to the warmth of Niall’s skin and finally comes.

It feels like he’s being pulled inside out, everything buzzing through his system and out through his dick. The too-tight clench of muscles in his back and down his side melts away, turns into a sated, lax liquid. He groans loudly, hardly realises he’s doing it as he collapses against Niall’s chest. He feels a hand against his back, a soft trail of nails scratching down his spine to make him shiver. 

Liam’s right, Harry thinks as he slowly sinks into drowsiness. It is better with someone you love.

 

 

Harry wakes up the next morning with Niall tensing against him. They’ve shifted in the night, Harry curling around Niall’s back. It’s backwards but somehow they’ve still managed to slot against each other. He feels disgusting, sweaty and grimy. There’s a damp face cloth lodged between them and Harry can't remember how it got there. Niall inches away from it, his body rolling away.

“Ssssh,” Harry hushes him nonsensically, placing his palm flat against Niall’s chest. He doesn’t want to move yet. 

Niall snuffles, his shoulders finally untensing. He inhales and Harry stiffens himself, wondering what he’s going to say. He desperately hopes it’s not something along the lines of _get the fuck out_. Niall stifles a yawn, turns slightly so he’s more on his back but just as tangled in Harry’s arm, “I don’t think I can ever wear polka dot socks again.”


End file.
